


the dream i told you 'bout

by Val Mora (valmora)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, PWP, Roleplay, consenting sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valmora/pseuds/Val%20Mora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve comes home from a run, and the Winter Soldier's waiting for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the dream i told you 'bout

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes passing references to details in lalaietha's "your blue-eyed boys," since it's pretty much my platonic ideal of Bucky recovery fic. The most salient one is brief allusions to food issues, for those who need a trigger warning for them.
> 
> Title derived from "My Dreams are Getting Better All the Time".
> 
> Since the premise of this fic could be easy to misinterpret, I've included a full-spoilers explanation in the end notes, for anyone who has concerns.

The lights in the apartment aren't on. Nothing through the windows.

Steve circles the block, looking to check the other rooms, and sure enough they're all off. The window closest to the building next door is open, too.

He left the lamp by the couch on when he went running. Not that he'd trip over anything in the dark, since there's too much ambient light for that. And he didn't leave the window open. It's cool out tonight.

He takes the elevator. No reason not to. The window being open, the light being off, all that was intentional.

He unlocks the apartment door, lets himself in. Light from outside enough to see the shadow in the back of the kitchen, where one of the chairs was moved for better sight lines and to have a back against an interior wall that adjoins one of the cleaned-out apartments next to this one, for security.

Steve keeps his shoes on.

"Hey," he says, quiet. 

Silence. Bucky – the Winter Soldier – watches him. Watches the windows, walls. Doesn't say anything. He's in dark clothing, maybe a hoodie for warmth and to cover up the arm.

"You have someplace safe to stay?"

A sideways look back at him, maybe surprise.

"It's gonna get colder, later this week." He toes his shoes off onto the tray by the door, next to another pair of running shoes, uniform boots. "Just want to know if you're okay." 

The Winter Soldier shifts, slightly. Steve makes a knife strapped to his thigh. No guns, no vest loaded with grenades. Still the arm.

"If you're injured, I can help. Gauze and bandages in the bathroom." Keeps his hands out of his pockets, his breathing steady. Bucky here. God. He can hear his own heartbeat, wonders if the Winter Soldier can too.

"No injuries," the Winter Soldier grates out. He makes eye contact, then looks away, chin still up. Defiance, maybe, or hope. 

What does he want but can't ask about? "There's food in the cupboard. I'm gonna eat something, but I need to get it." Like Steve is gonna be able to stomach anything, this worked up, but if it's there and he puts it where the Winter Soldier can get to it, maybe he'll have some. The light makes him look haggard.

Steve goes to the cupboards, opens one. Puts a hand there. It's pretty empty, the box of meal replacement bars and the package of protein shake mixes close to hand.

He takes three of the bars out, unwraps one, puts the others on the counter. He's still a couple arms-lengths away from the Winter Soldier, not quite within reach but close enough. He leaves the cupboard door open; it has a tendency to slam closed, and he doesn't want to do anything that'll startle him. That would take this somewhere Steve doesn't want to go.

A bead of sweat from his run drips down his temple onto his cheek. He'd forgotten. The small of his back feels cold, with the open window. "I'm gonna eat this and take a shower, okay?"

"No."

"No what?"

Glance at Steve, then away. Licks his lips. "No shower. Give me your phone."

There's a land line in the apartment, but the receivers are on the other side of the room. He gives the phone. Tony won't mind too much if it's broken. Probably. Steve's service provider always seems baffled by his using Stark Industries prototypes, but apparently the R&D team likes to brag about it.

He slides his phone across the counter to the Winter Soldier. It disappears into a pocket in the hoodie. Steve takes a bite of the bar, chews, swallows. He hates these bars, but needs must. Reaches out to nudge the two on the counter a little closer to the Winter Soldier.

"There's more of 'em in the cabinet," he says, careful. In case the Winter Soldier's hungry but trying to make sure Steve has enough to eat.

A blink, a quick gesture. One of the bars is off the counter, and the Winter Soldier is chewing slowly. How long's it been since he's had something good to eat, anyway? 

Steve leans back against the counter, hip digging into the edge. Outside on the sidewalk, a group of people wanders past, laughing. The Winter Soldier's eyes don't follow the sound, since they're no danger.

"If you help me move the couch you can sleep there," Steve offers. "I'll keep watch. Or I can leave if that would make you feel safer."

A sharp look. "No. Stay." The Winter Soldier stands. He's probably gone over the whole apartment already, but he makes another circuit while Steve finishes the meal replacement bar. The way he walks, anchored through the floor, shoulders heavy, makes Steve's mouth dry. 

It's different from the way Bucky used to walk. He was always sure of himself, but he didn't have this intensity, and it makes Steve remember the look of Bucky's legs. Bucky's bigger, now, than he used to be; under those pants the muscles - 

He swallows.

The Winter Soldier comes back into the kitchen, keeps his back to a wall, not close to the windows. That's something, at least. That he's not going back to that corner, to that chair. The new position's a little less secure, and he stands there, easy, dangerous. Handsome.

It feels good to think it, finally. Took him awhile to admit to himself that he was looking at men, and Bucky in particular, but this feels safe, here.

He keeps his hands out of his pockets, away from anywhere he might be storing a weapon, and goes to the Winter Soldier.

"I'm here," he says, and stops in front of him, just offset enough to keep him from feeling trapped.

The way the Winter Soldier looks at him, gauging his mood and his skills and probably what he's thinking, an instinctive probably-too accurate assessment, makes him want to look away. He fights it and lets himself flush, stands up a little straighter, hoping it doesn't look like he's getting ready to attack.

The Winter Soldier raises his hand to Steve's shoulder. The metal's cool through Steve's sweat-damp shirt, but Steve leans into the thumb sliding along the tendons of his neck. He might as well show trust, because he's not going to fight except to defend himself. 

"You know me," the Winter Soldier says, a wondering note to it. "You trust me."

"Yeah." Like there's anything else to say. He trusts Bucky, in any form, by any name.  
A car stops suddenly outside, brakes squealing, and the Winter Soldier tenses, but there's nothing after that, just the sound of the car accelerating normally. No footsteps, no sound of hooks digging into the walls.

The Winter Soldier's thumb relaxes from where it pressed ready and close to Steve's arteries. His hand slides up, gloved, to cup Steve's jaw, and Steve turns into the touch. Bucky used to hold him like this, too. Would sling an arm over his shoulder in public for the comfort of it, and drag his fingers against Steve's exposed neck above his shirt collar like it was an accident. The familiarity of it burns, and he closes his eyes.

"Always," Steve says quietly.

The Winter Soldier uses that hand to ease Steve closer, almost like he wants to use Steve as a shield against whatever might come through the windows. It's okay. Steve would gladly, after everything…

He goes with that touch, until his chin is tilted downwards, until he's being kissed.

He puts his hand over the Winter Soldier's on his face and kisses back. 

The Winter Soldier kisses him not like he wishes he could find his memories somewhere in Steve's tonsils, but like he's precious. It's so terribly gentle, and Steve is relieved down to his bones that there's something soft that Bucky feels safe enough to show him.

The sensation of skin against the back of his neck makes him shiver.

He breaks the kiss, then lets himself have one more, before he says, "It's cold and I'm still sweaty. I'm gonna go change." Presses his forehead down to the Winter Soldier's, a mindless comfort that he's somehow allowed.

The hands on his skin leave, but he doesn't let go of the Winter Soldier's left hand. 

"Come with me?" he offers.

Silence, then a jerk of the chin to mean yes. The cold knot of grief in his chest loosens a little more, and he shivers against the length of their bodies pressed together before letting go. 

The Winter Soldier leaves his left hand in Steve's as they go to Steve's bedroom. The sheets are rumpled, and so are the ones in the closet; the nightstand has three coffee mugs with only dregs remaining. Steve has a habit of getting up to get more and only realizing once in the kitchen that he forgot to bring the mug he meant to refill.

They didn't have enough cups that he could make a new one dirty, before. Steve holds tighter to the Winter Soldier's hand, grateful that of all the things in this world he can afford mugs and good coffee, and have his friend back beside him. 

He stops, still a few steps from the bed, and turns to the Winter Soldier half-behind him. He reaches across the distance between them to rest his hand over the Winter Soldier's chest, feeling the pound of his heart through his clothing. His fingers curl in the fabric, and he leans in crowding-close again. 

The Winter Soldier's breathing is slower than Bucky's used to be, but that's okay. Steve's is slower than his used to be, too. 

He wants to say something, but everything feels wrong, and then it's too late, because the Winter Soldier is nudging him toward the bed with its rumpled sheets. Steve still has trouble sleeping, more nights than he doesn't, but this feels like putting something right. 

He unclenches his hand from the Winter Soldier's hoodie. "What should I do?"

A momentary stillness, and then the Winter Soldier curls his right hand at the collar of Steve's t-shirt, fingers brushing skin.

"Take your clothes off," he says, low, and Steve lets go of his hand to reach for his own shirt. He doesn't want to take the step back to take his shirt off, but he does anyway, and lets it drop to the floor to their side. Drags down the waistband of his running pants and underwear at the same time, careful over his dick, before letting them drop. He works his way out of the legs by nudging off his socks with the other foot. 

The Winter Soldier meets his eyes. Not challenging, but searching. Not, thank God, like he's expecting to be hurt.

"I…" the Winter Soldier begins, brow furrowing, and then he shakes it away, puts his hand on Steve's chest. Maybe he wants the reassurance, too.

"Yeah?" 

His jaw tightens. Silence, this time, and he pushes in close, breath hot against Steve's throat.

Steve holds him, arms wrapped against the softness of the hoodie he's wearing, and strokes his back through all the layers of fabric.

"I'm glad you're here," Steve says.

The Winter Soldier kisses his neck, sliding both hands down Steve's sides, and lets them rest at Steve's hips. Steve shifts forward into the touch until he can feel the hoodie soft against his chest.

"I'd like it if you stayed, but I'll understand if you don't," he adds, more quietly, into the Winter Soldier's hair, which curls faintly against his lips. It smells a little like car exhaust, but mostly of the way Bucky always smells. Those hands clench at his sides. The knuckles of the left are cool on his skin.

Steve tucks his hand up, into the hood where it's pushed down at the back of the Winter Soldier's neck, and touches skin. He's gentle, or tries to be, and the Winter Soldier relaxes against him, hands unfolding to curve over his hips. He's holding on tight, but at least he's holding on, and he's here.

Steve's chest aches. "I'm so glad you're here," he says again, lips pressed to the Winter Soldier's temple, and kisses the thin-boned softness there.

The Winter Soldier pauses for a moment, then pushes him down into the bed. His eyes are bright and clear, though, and Steve reaches up to beckon him as the mattress thumps with the impact of his body. Their bodies, because the Winter Soldier follows him, crouching over Steve on his hands and knees. The strings from his hoodie dangle in the air between them, swinging unevenly.

Steve laughs, helpless, and catches the ends in one hand, twisting them around his fingers while propping himself up for a kiss.

This should be ridiculous. Bucky, home, with him, after all that's happened. Like a movie rather than real life.

He kisses the Winter Soldier, careful of the pressure and the sting of his teeth, and is grateful that he's here and safe. Pulls him down so they're flush, Steve's nakedness to that soft hoodie and the worn-loose jeans, the hilt of a knife digging into his thigh.

His hands slide to the Winter Soldier's ass and then lower, and he unbuckles the sheath. It slides onto the bed with a muted flex in the mattress that he feels at his hip. 

He drags his hands back up, slow, and tucks his thumbs under the hem of the hoodie where it's rucked up against the small of the Winter Soldier's back. Touches warm-soft skin and the bumps of his spine.

"Please," he smears into the corner of the Winter Soldier's jaw, between kisses, but when the Winter Soldier starts to push off of him, Steve can barely bring himself to let him go. He does, though, his arms feeling empty. The hoodie comes off, along with the shirt under it, and drops over the edge of the bed.

The light pollution reflects off the Winter Soldier's arm. Steve spreads his palm over the star at his bicep and urges him back down for a kiss, dog tags clinking between their chests. 

He had a sweetheart pin for Bucky before the SSR let him in. He'd wanted to have something, and it wasn't like he hadn't seen a few men around the neighborhood wearing them, but he'd kept it in the lining of his coat, liking how it clinked against his chest. It probably got thrown out by the Barneses when they were cleaning house, because the Smithsonian didn't have it and it wasn't in the boxes of his and Bucky's things that Abby Proctor-Green gave back to him.

When they part, he gives the dog tags a little shake, liking the sound of their jangle, then lets go. The Winter Soldier's face is open and raw. A little wondering, as he brushes his fingers against Steve's chest. The metal's warm.

Steve's mouth crooks into a smile. He doesn't have to like how Bucky was taught to think he didn't deserve kindness or love, but watching him realize that he has it, is real nice. He strokes the length of the Winter Soldier's back, who shivers, the same way Bucky always did, though he'd say it was because Steve's hands were so cold. 

"Cold," the Winter Soldier says, and Steve has to kiss him, laughter and joy bubbling up inside his chest that Bucky is still here, that he's alive and away from Hydra. That he recognizes cold.

"Come on, then," Steve says, after, and lets his fingertips slide under the waist of the Winter Soldier's pants. 

The Winter Soldier shifts his weight, then kneels up on the bed between Steve's legs and unzips. Pauses, there, watching Steve still lying on the bed. If he keeps those on, the zipper's going to hurt, but Steve wants to let him decide how he wants this to go. 

The Winter Soldier gets off the bed and drops the rest of his clothing. Steve uses the opportunity to kick the knife out of the sheets onto the floor, though not out of the Winter Soldier's reach. They both watch it fall with a thump onto the carpet, and then the Winter Soldier kneels back onto the bed, naked, blue-shaded in the darkness. The strength of his shoulders, the power of flexing muscle in his thighs below the rise of his cock, makes Steve's breath catch. Makes him reach up to take his hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the palm, breathing in the smell of oil and metal.

When he lets go, the Winter Soldier brushes his fingers through Steve's hair and lies down again. His breath is warm against Steve's neck, and his dick is heavy against Steve's stomach, the way Steve's presses against his. He shifts slightly to align them, then just keeps moving, rocking gently into the pressure.

Steve buries one hand in the Winter Soldier's hair, not pulling, just holding him close. God. The weight and warmth and presence of him, and Steve's so grateful – 

The Winter Soldier thrusts harder, a little hitch at the end that pushes Steve's dick an extra inch against his skin, and Steve moans. He's already close, been up for this since before he even walked in the door, and when he starts to move off-time to the rhythm already between them, it's even better. Sensation of the Winter Soldier's cock rubbing against his, smearing sticky-damp between them, breath on his neck heaving wet-hot little noises. 

The Winter Soldier's hand drags at his hip, fingers digging against bone so hard it'll bruise, and Steve chokes on his own pleasure, going off against their stomachs.

The little breathless shudders the Winter Soldier's making as he thrusts, covered in Steve's mess, when Steve's aware enough of himself to notice, are something else. Make his heart go warm and his dick twitch.

"I'm with you," he murmurs, letting his hands curl against the Winter Soldier's back, and the Winter Soldier whimpers desperately, still moving as he comes.

They lie there for a few moments, just breathing, Steve petting his back, before Bucky nips at his throat and says, voice gravelly and mock-annoyed, "Sure took your time getting to the point."

Steve squeezes his ass, fond. "Didn't want to push."

Bucky snorts, rolling onto his side, then grabs a wet cloth off the nightstand to wipe them both off. They are both going to need a shower pretty soon, but Steve's happy where they are. "Don't tell me that giving me something to eat wasn't taking advantage of the situation."

Steve curls onto his side, slinging an arm over Bucky's waist to hold him close. "It was situationally appropriate."

"Yeah," Bucky agrees, quiet, and kisses the corner of Steve's mouth. "Thanks."

Steve turns his head, catches him into another kiss. It's gentle, but not short. "Was it okay?"

Bucky swallows. "Yeah. Yeah, that was – what I wanted." He traces the hairline at the back of Steve's neck with his thumb. "Might ask for it again."

"I can do that." He clenches his toes around the fold of a sheet and drags it up over their feet. "Happy to, even."

Bucky doesn't quite smile, but the corner of his mouth quirks. "Couldn't tell. Seemed like it mighta been a real imposition. Way you couldn't keep your hands off me."

Steve curls their ankles together. "You got that right. Didn't miss that chore at all." He kisses Bucky's cheek, then says, lower, a promise, "I'll welcome you home whenever you need it." A breath. "Might need it myself sometimes." 

Bucky threads his fingers into Steve's hair. "Can do that," he says, voice thick. His knee bumps into Steve's as he shifts closer, and Steve holds on tight.

**Author's Note:**

> Premise: Steve and Bucky have pre-negotiated a sexual roleplay scenario in which Bucky is pretending to still be in Winter Soldier headspace, and is (metaphorically) coming in from the cold to Steve. Bucky is at all times aware of himself, consenting, and fully participating (and even in-scene both Steve and the Winter Soldier are consenting). This is made clear within the text of the fic, but not explicitly so until the end, because of me wanting to maintain the fiction of the scenario for the reader.


End file.
